


Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals be.

by brokenbeauty



Category: One Direction
Genre: Anorexia, Bottom Louis, Bulimia, Dom Harry, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad!Louis, Self Harm, Sub Louis, harry top, hipster!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:12:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenbeauty/pseuds/brokenbeauty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or the one where Harry-the-hipster helps Louis-the-somebody get better and they mightmostdefinitelynothaveatinylittlethingforeachother</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

There was blood. A lot of it. He could feel it, pooling all around him, soaking his sheets. The half-forgotten, but oh, so sharp whispers sliced through the thick air tinged with the acrid scent of his own blood.

_“He’s never, ever going to love you back.”_

_“Fucking fag.”_

_“You’ll never be good enough, will you? Fucking useless piece of shit.”_

The scream that presently sounded through the room terrified even him. It barely sounded human. And it was coming from him.

Louis Tomlinson jerked awake, sweating and shaking, his forearms and thighs still throbbing from earlier.


	2. Chapter Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry the chapters are so short and shitty. But it gets better, I promise!

_“S-shit.”_

Louis gasped as he clenched the sweat-soaked sheets in his hands.

He had begun to cry without even realizing it.

_I’m a fucking fag_

_Wrong._

_Disgusting._

_He’s never going to love me!_

Louis let out a sob as another stab of pain shot through his arms and legs.

_IwanttodieIwantoutmakeitstop._

_I want_   _to die._

_I want out._

_Make it stop!_

Louis wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and cry until he couldn’t anymore, until someone came or he died or the pain somehow  _stopped._

_God, why does it hurt so bad?_

_why, why, why, why why why_ why  _WHY_

All that came out, though, was a hoarse whisper of “Stop.” as he wrapped his throbbing arms around his knees and rocked himself for a long, long time. Until his eyes stopped streaming and his sobs quieted themselves into little whimpers before finally dying out.

_It was a bad dream, just a bad dream._

He chanted the mantra over and over to himself as he tried to steady his breathing.

When he felt he could breathe normally again, he took a long, shuddering breath and wiped a few stray tears off his cheeks.

_Okay. You’re calm. Okay, okay okay okay._

_Okay. Superficial thing. Think of everyday things._

_What time’s it?_

He glanced at the blinking blue numbers on his digital clock.

7:00 am. 

Half an hour before his shitty alarm awakened him to his shitty life.

_Nooooooo._

Louis groaned aloud. He didn’t want to go to school. Not today, anyway. But his alarm was going to start ring in thirty anyway, so.

No use trying to go back to sleep.

_Might as well._

After allowing himself one blissful second of peace, Louis jerked himself out of bed. He stood up groggily and tried to run a hand through his hair to smooth it, then caught sight of his arm.

He was lost for words as he traced his fingers gingerly over them.

_Beautiful._

_Disgusting._

He sighed and watched the sunlight glinting off the congealed blood collected in the raised red lines on his arms.

_Its what I deserve, at any rate._

He walked into the shower, taking off his clothes. He slid them gingerly down his raw thighs, and stared at himself in the mirror. He sized up his body, scrutinizing it from every possible angle.

_Well, if I’m not pretty, I can be thin, at any rate._

He rubbed his hands over his hipbones, making sure they were satisfactorily protuberant, and then turned to look at his profile.

_That has to come off._

He disgustedly prodded at his small tummy before averting his eyes and walking into the shower. Pity. He had only planned on skipping one meal that day.

He turned the tap to scalding hot and hissed as the water burned on the way down his body, making his forearms and thighs feel like they were on fire.

_This is what I fucking deserve. Fucking useless failure._

After he had soaped himself off, he wrapped a towel around himself and opened his closet, almost laughing as he saw his array of short-sleeved tees and shorts.

_Wonder what’d happen if I just walked out in one of those?_

His lips curled into a mirthless smile. Who would notice? He was Louis Perfect Tomlinson, the one with lots of friends, the class joker. The nice guy.

_Maybe I should._

He dismissed the notion with a snort. School was the one place he was actually happy at.

_Why do you want to ruin that, too?_

He sighed and rifled through his clothes for a bit before selecting a grey sweater that hung off his collarbones. His oldest, softest and most comfy one. He then put on a pair of bright orange jeans, wincing at how they clung to his arse, showing off his thighs.

_Just what I need. More show of my chunky butt._

He stopped for a moment, considering. Then,

_Fuck it._

He pulled them on anyway.

He’d make sure to press that compass just that little bit harder that night in punishment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading, come put a little love in my glove box at louis-twinklinson on Tumblr :) Also, comments and kudos are always much appreciated <3


	3. Chapter Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda long soooo???

Harry Styles was bored. He yawned and stretched out, hearing his joints pop.

He was standing behind the counter at Starbucks, enjoying  a rare respite from the constant throng of customers. Don’t get him wrong, he _liked_ his job. It paid his bills. And he could listen to the idealistic conversation of the hipsters. And stuff. It was just that constantly queuing up and serving orders got tedious after a while.

_Is it possible to die of_ _boredom?_

He had read ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ through twice. He had tried an energetic game of tic-tac-toe with himself (he began to have serious doubts about his mental health after he began to accuse himself of cheating), talking in funny accents to various customers (he stopped rather abruptly after one elderly concernedly asked him if he had a speech impairment) and flicking various projectiles at his coworker, Sandy. (which was why he was now missing the top two buttons on his shirt.)

He was absently flipping through his book and just considering going and annoying Sandy again, (“You’ll get your hair ripped out his time, Styles, so don’t even think about it!” she had yelled. It was almost creepy how she could guess his thoughts.)(Harry had his suspicions about her being a secret voodoo woman) when the door opened.

And in walked —

no, not the prettiest boy Harry had ever seen. 

A balding man of forty-ish.

Harry groaned.

_So much for the life-changing moment._

He could tell from the way the man’s eyes raked over his body that he was one of those closet-gay perverts.

“May I help you, sir?” he said coolly, hoping his manner was enough to ward off any advances. He had a boyfriend, for God’s sakes.

“I can think of more than one way in which you can.” The man murmured, leering at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes. Apparently not.

“What can I get you?”

“Your arse on a silver platter.” chuckled the man.

Harry felt a growing annoyance.

“I’m afraid we do not sell those here.” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. “Just take what you want and leave.”

It was only after the words left his mouth that he realized the innuendo and mentally facepalmed.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to take you with me, then?” said the man, and seriously, Harry was  _this_ close to punching him in the face.

“I meant coffee.” He said, willing himself to remain calm.

“Well, I’ll have a large cappuccino, darling.” He said, grinning to reveal yellowing, nicotine-stained teeth.

Harry decided to ignore him, queuing up the order and shouting it to Sandy, who gave Harry a sympathetic look as she rushed to the coffee machine. Harry looked at his book just to avoid the man’s lecherous gaze. He could feel it burning holes into him as he determinedly ignored it. 

_Please just let it be over._

After what felt like an eternity, Sandy handed him the order.

“Here.” He said, sliding the cup across the counter to him, along with the bill, wanting to touch him as little as possible.

The man ignored both.

“So you wanna come back to mine after your shift is over?” he said, leaning over the counter to brush his mouth against Harry’s ear, his hand reaching around to squeeze Harry’s arse.

And that was  _it._

Harry pushed the man away with both hands, seized the coffee cup, and hurled it as hard as he could at the man.

Only he dodged out of the way.

The cup sailed through the air, and hit-

ah,  _there_ he was-

The  _prettiest, fucking hottest boy_ Harry had ever seen, exploding in a mess of scalding hot coffee and foam on his grey sweater.

“Fuck!”

Harry suppressed a groan, the sound shooting straight to his groin. That high, musical voice, forming filthy words was not hard for him to transport into the bedroom. And the boy looked so fucking  _hot,_ with his sweater wet and clinging to his tiny (God, so  _tiny_ ) body, and flecks of foam among the fine, brown strands of his hair.

_God, I could pin that tiny body down and-_

But now pretty-boy was moving.

As though in slow motion, Harry saw him get up, wince, and then swiftly knee the old man in the crotch, hard.

“What the fuck?” he yelled, doubling over in pain. “I’ll get you, you little-“

“Oh, no, you won’t.” Harry suddenly found himself saying, his voice cold and sharp, like ice. It surprised even him.  “Unless you want to be escorted out by the police.”

With that, Harry gripped him under the arms (wrinkling his nose a little at the foul smell emanating from him) and hauled him, none too gently, to his feet. With a firm grip, he escorted the man out.

When he returned, pretty-boy was sitting on one of the chairs, wringing out the edge of his sweater with a grimace.

_He’s so_ cute.

He looked up, and Harry was dazzled by his beauty, all over again.

_God, the things I want to do to him._

And now those  _perfectly kissable_ lips were moving, forming words, and Harry was so entranced by their delicate curve that he almost missed the actual words.

“….totally ruined.” The boy finished, and Harry’s incessant ogling was interrupted.

“Hmmm?” he said absently. “What?”

“I  _said,_ ” the boy repeated, now with a trace of annoyance coloring his flutey voice, “that my sweater is absolutely ruined. And now I can’t go see Niall. And Stan. Like I wanted to.”

“Sorry about that.” Harry said, thinking for a minute, before whipping off his own plaid shirt, exposing the black tank top he wore underneath. He offered it to Louis, whose eyes flicked rapidly once up and down his body before he took the shirt.

_Definitely gay. Score, Styles._

“Thanks, mate.” He said. “Now, mind explaining what the fuck that was about?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, things are heating up *wink wink* ;)
> 
> I love me some kudos and comments!! Also some love on my Tumblaaah, which, again, is louis-twinklinson. Or criticism. Idek man just message me. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I really like this chapter.

“Um, well.”

For once, Harry was at a loss for what to say. And pretty-boy standing there in that sweater showing off his delicious collarbones _really_ wasn’t helping him gather his thoughts.  Finally, he went for the only answer that, in his current state, wouldn’t make him sound like an utter and total idiot.

“Well, how about you go change out of that veritable pneumonia trap, and I’ll fix you up with a coffee, and tell you the entire woeful story of my fucked-up life?” he said, pointing to the little back-room and attempting a smile.

It quickly turned into an attempt to not push him up against the nearest wall and _take_ when he let out a clear, tinkling laugh.

“Oh my god.” He giggled, fucking _giggled,_ sending chills up Harry’s spine. “You’re _such_ a hipster.”

“I take grievous offence.” Harry said, mock-offended.

“See? Who even _uses_ words like ‘woeful’ and ‘grievous’ nowadays?” he said, holding Harry’s shirt up for inspection.

“You even have a fucking plaid shirt. And you work at _Starbucks._ ”

Harry just shrugged. “I s’pose.” Then, making a (he hoped) subtle return to the subject, he said, “So, what kind of coffee d’you want? It’s on the house.”

He owed the boy that, at least. He had just kicked a stranger in the balls for him.

“No offence, mate, but I think I’ve had enough of coffee for one day.” he said, scrunching up his little, delicate nose.

And Harry just wanted to kiss away the wrinkles on the skin there.  “Or for any amount of days. Would you be so kind as to provide me with tea?” he said, flashing him another of his sunny smiles.

“Of course.” Harry said. He couldn’t help smiling back, throwing his dimples into prominence.

He could swear he heard the boy’s breath hitch.

It was followed by a flash of vulnerability which was gone so fast Harry couldn’t be sure it had been there in the first place.

“Well. I’ll just…” he said, motioning vaguely in the direction of the back-room.

“Yeah.” said Harry. He could think of nothing else to say. He could feel the chill emanating from the boy who had been so sunny just moments before.

_What even?_

In spite of his puzzlement, he noted the sway of pretty-boy’s arse as he walked. It was _delicious,_ full and round and almost _edible._ Harry stifled a moan as he imagined getting his hands on it, grabbing the plump flesh in his hands and _squeezing._

He didn’t even notice he had been practically salivating until Sandy snapped her fingers in front of his face.

“Ease up there, Casanova. You’ve got a boyfriend, remember?”

“Huh-Wha-?” he said, starting.

“Boy-frie-nd.” Sandy said, enunciating each syllable.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets, turning away. His blush belied his words.

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit. You were practically stripping him with your eyes.” she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

“I was _not._ ” Harry said indignantly.

 _Am I_ that _obvious?_

“Yeah, whatever you say.”

It was not until Harry had to write a name on the cup of tea that he realized he didn’t even know pretty-boy’s name.

 

 

_What the fuck are you doing?_

Louis hurriedly stripped off his sweater, wincing as it dragged over his forearms.

“Ow, shit, fuck, _fuck._ ” He muttered, quickly pulling on the plaid shirt the hot- _no not hot –_ perfectly normal boy had given him.

_What the fuck were you thinking?_

_How could you let him affect you like that?_

_You’d have kissed him, wouldn’t you?_

_You sick fag._

_How could you even think he wants you?_

_Who would?_

_Andy doesn’t._

Louis could scream. He almost did.

He couldn’t, though.

He just did the only thing he _could_ do. He clapped his hands over his ears, trying to shut out the awful voices in his head.

_SHUT UP! Stop it stopitstopitstopIT._

People. People were good. He had to be around people, so that it wouldn’t be so bad.

_Okay. Out. Come on out now._

_Deep breaths._

“Okay.” He said, as he breathed in and opened- well, _tried_ to open- the door. He grimaced as he saw, for the first time, that the sleeves fell way past his hands.

He rolled them up to his wrists, careful not to expose his forearms, and inspected the rest of himself in the reflection of the glass door.

He sighed.

The neck, when buttoned up to the top button, (where were the first two?) sagged sideways to reveal the dip of  his collarbone. The bottom reached almost mid-thigh, so he’d had to tie the ends just above the top of his jeans.

 

In short, he looked homeless.

 

“Ugh.” He muttered, finally pulling open the door and walking out.

 

He made sure to throw the sopping sweater in Perfectly Normal Boy’s face when he saw him, lounging in one of the plastic chairs, the hard planes of his long, pale body having to bend to fit.

“What the f-“ he said, almost falling out of his chair as it caught him full in the face. “What the hell was that for?” he spluttered, sitting up and wiping his face with a tissue he took from the table.

Louis simply Looked a him. The Look which told people they had done something wrong.

Harry didn’t bite.

He simply looked back at Louis, (his eyes were so green) his green green green eyes boring into Louis’, until it became a staring contest.

Louis sure as hell wasn’t going to lose.

The thing was, though, that staring so long into his eyes, was _doing_ things to him. He felt as if, -cliché as it sounds,- he was drowning in the emerald depths.

It was not a good feeling.

Damn him.

Louis tore his gaze away.

“I’m Louis Tomlinson.” He muttered, holding out a hand for the boy to shake.

“Harry Styles, hipster and staring professional. Pleased to meet you.” Harry laughed, shaking Louis’ hand with his own (huge) one.

“Well, Harry Styles, I do believe you promised me tea.” Louis smiled playfully, slowly slipping into character.

“So I did.” Perfectly Normal Harry said, reaching over to the counter without bothering to get up from his chair. (God, was his body that long?)  and grabbing a clear plastic cup of tea and a straw encased in a paper cover.

‘Here.” he said, tearing open the packet and pulling out a straw. He stuck it through the opening in the cup.

“One iced tea, our very finest.” He spoke in his poshest accent, taking out a Sharpie from behind his ear and writing Louis’ name in big loopy handwriting on the cup. Louis rolled his eyes, but played along, taking dainty little sips from the straw.

“Ah, simply marvelous.” He said, imitating Harry’s accent.

 

Suddenly, the strains of a familiar song filled the shop, and Harry jumped.

“Is that _Give Me Love?_ ” Louis demanded. Then, as the chorus rang out, “Oh my god. Your fucking ringtone is Give Me Love. You’re _such_ a sap.”

“That song is absolute genius.” Harry said, extracting his phone from the pocket of jeans skinnier than Louis’. He checked the caller ID, and his whole face seemed to light up.

“Excuse me.” He said, moving away, but not far enough away that Louis couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Hey babe.” He said softly, to whoever was on the other end. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Louis felt irrationally upset. Then, what sounded like bad news came through.

 “Oh, c’mon. Are you _serious?_ I’m going to _kill_ you.”

Placating tones.

“ _Why?_ ” Harry was saying. Louis wondered how the douche on the other end could deny him anything.

_Wait. Since when did he become a douche?_

_And saying ‘no’ isn’t that hard._

“Okay, okay. But I’m coming over tonight. And slapping you.”

Finishing the call, Harry walked over.

Louis hardly noticed.

_Why?_

_Oh, please. You don’t deserve him. Or anyone, for that matter._

_But I could’ve learned to love him._

_And he’d have wanted you back? Don’t kid yourself._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think?? Tell me in the comments :) Kudos make me happy as well! And *whispers* my Tumblr is louis-twinklinson.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughh. This is so bad. And I know I haven't updated in forever, I'm so sorry. Well. Enjoy, I guess!

“Uh… Louis?” Harry said, gently tapping the boy on the shoulder.  Louis seemed absolutely zoned out.

“Louis?” Harry tried again, waving a hand in front of his face.

No reaction.

Harry was now slightly worried.

“Lou! Louis fucking Tomlinson have you suddenly become paralyzed for no apparent reason? Because I swear, I didn’t spike that drink.”

 

Harry was considering calling a paramedic (not that he didn’t enjoy staring at Louis sitting so perfectly still, but he _really_ didn’t want to potentially spend the rest of his life in jail.) when Louis’ mouth suddenly twitched. His entire mask-like façade seemed to crack, and presently the sound of this tinkling laugh filled the shop.

“God, your _face._ ” He gasped out amid bursts of laughter, clutching his stomach. “You looked like you were gonna pass out on me.”

Harry felt a reluctant smile break out over his face despite his annoyance. He suppressed it with some difficulty.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, mate. That was so _obvious._ ”

“Yeah, well!” Harry protested, raising up his hands defensively. “Something could have _happened_ to you. For all I know, you could have been an epileptic who had forgotten to take his medication today.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m pretty sure epileptics have seizures, not paralytic attacks, love.” he said. “But,”

he added, fixing Harry with a serious look, putting his hands on his shoulders. (God, his hands were so fucking _tiny_.) (Harry’s breath hitched a little because _they couldn’t even fucking span the width of his shoulders_ ) (and fuckfuckfuck fuckitty fuck he was having to reach up to put his hands there)

“Harry.” He said, with a completely straight face, thankfully startling Harry out of his train of thought. “This might come as a shock to you, but… I do not suffer from epilepsy, and neither am I on any other medication. I am not prone to paralytic attacks, and you’re rather an idiot.”

Harry didn’t quite know what to say to that, so they just stared at each other for a long moment.

Then, Louis dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry.” he said.

“Was that too much?”

He looked so in earnest that Harry wanted to sort of bundle him up in a blanket and feed him chocolate and kiss those little lines on his forehead. Sort of.

But Harry was not a nice person, and he was determined to get his revenge.

He summoned up his best ‘I’m-hurt-but-I-won’t-show-it’ expression, and looked away, not saying anything.

Almost at once, Louis’ teasing façade seemed to crumble, and the hands on his shoulders were gripping him that much more tightly.

“Hey, Harry?” he said, his voice soft and pleading, and, _oh,_  Harry can’t even find words to describe how it sounded to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, please forgive me?” 

And Harry almost, _almost_ crumbles.

Or rather, he _does_ crumble.

Crumble, as in, bursts out laughing to put Louis out of his misery, not melt down into a mushy puddle of goo like he wants to.

With surprising strength for his tiny frame, Louis punched him in the arm.

“You twat!” he said indignantly. “You fucking scared the crap out of me!”

“Can’t say I didn’t enjoy seeing you beg, love.” Harry said with a smirk. He was well aware of the fact that he was flirting, but it just seemed to come so naturally with Louis.

Louis’ eyes widened at the connotation to his words.

“I was _not_ begging!” he said, outraged. “Also, I do think you have a boyfriend, and unless you want him to beat me up, you had better slow down, there, Casanova.”

 “A boyfriend who is currently being a massive prick.” Harry muttered, and then his brow creased.

“Wait. How did you even know I was talking to my boyfriend?”

“You’re too much of a gentleman to threaten to slap a girlfriend, darling.”

 _Wait._ Darling?

“Mm-hmm.” 

Harry debated with himself for a moment. An idea had just occurred to him. An _awful_ idea.

_Can I?_

_Of course not, you lunatic._

_But…_

No.

_Ughhhhhhh._

He thought for a bit more, tipping his head to the side, weighing the pros and cons, and made his decision.

This was a bad idea.

This was _such_ a bad idea.

Well, he was only going to have himself to blame if- no, _when_ this went bad.

“Here goes nothing.” He muttered to himself before addressing Louis.

“Hey, Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Since my dick of a boyfriend has cancelled on me, I will be spending a very lonely Saturday evening.  Since I’ve already made the reservations, would you care to come for dinner with me?”

Louis was silent for a bit, contemplative, and Harry began to panic.

_Too soon!_

_He probably thinks I’m some sort of creep now._

“Well, sure. As long as you don’t kidnap me and keep me as your sex slave in a dark dungeon.”

Harry was practically glowing with happiness on the inside, but he still found it in himself to adopt a teasing tone.

“Well, now that you mention it… I might just be tempted to.”

Louis’ only response was to punch him lightly in the arm, again.

“Ow!” Harry protested, even though it hadn’t really hurt. “I’m starting to feel like your punching bag.”

“Good.” Louis said with a satisfied smile. “That’s ‘cuz you are.”

He took a cursory glance at his watch, and gasped.

“You’ve entangled me in your net of darkness, Harold!” he said with a dramatic flourish of his arms. “I am awfully late for class.”

“Not short for Harold.” Harry grumbled. “Just for that, I won’t let you leave my evil trap.” he said, pulling Louis back with invisible strings. Catching on, Louis pretended to choke and clutched at his neck.

“Seriously, though,” he said, when they had stopped laughing like little kids. “I’m so fucking late, I should really get to class.”

Harry sighed. He was nowhere near ready to let go of this wonderful boy.

“Well, then I suppose I must relinquish my possession of you.” he said, in a martyred tone.

“Yep.”

“I’ll see you Saturday?” Harry asked, suddenly needing the reassurance.

“Sure thing.”

“Well, see y’around, Lou.”

“Same, Harold.”

With that, Louis traipsed out of the shop, and Harry tried really, _really_ hard not to stare at the sway of his arse as he walked away. (he failed.)

 

And, really, it wasn’t Harry’s fault if a big, goofy grin crept across his face when he realized that Louis had scribbled his phone number on the napkin next to his untouched tea, and signed it with his name and two x’s.

This was going to end _so_ well for Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you still want to have anything to do with the story after that, you can come talk to me louis-twinklinson.tumblr.com! Also comment and kudos and I will love you forever :) xxxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know!!!! I'm so, so sorry for making you lovely readers wait so, so fucking long. My fucking Word crashed JUST as I was about to finish this chapter, and I had to rewrite the entire chapter. (Well, on the bright side, I learned the virtues of saving my work.) Well, this is really long, almost 2.5k, so I hope it kinda sorta makes up for it!

Louis was fucked.

Louis was so, so fucked.

_And not even in a good way._

“Oh, shit, shit, the motherfucking shittiest pile of shit up motherfucking Jesus’ arse.” Louis muttered as his smile evaporated and he broke into a run as soon as he left the Starbucks and Harry’s… somewhat distracting presence.

 

_Well, at least you’ll lose some of that weight._

_Oh, that’s_ very _encouraging._

Louis was panting when he finally reached the school entrance, which was not surprising, considering he had sprinted much of the mile between Starbucks and there. He inhaled sharply as he surveyed the seven-foot high, decidedly _shut_ wrought-iron gates of Casterley High.

Casterley High was one of those places that had been established so long ago that no one could actually remember a time before it.

(Louis smiled wryly as he recalled Niall saying disgustedly that “It had all the old-fashioned shit no one bothered with these days, even a proper _chapel,_ for God’s sake, instead of a larger cafeteria!”

“Niall, food is not the only thing that matters in the world!” Avril had snapped. (did Louis mention that Avril was crazy passionate about art?)

Unfortunately, as Louis had remarked, the school had old-fashioned stick-up-the-arse discipline standards to go with its architecture)

)Even Avril had nothing to say to that)

_But its true, isn’t it?_

~Louis sighed as he briefly contemplated how much trouble he’s get into.

_Well, not more than that time you sneaked weed into the AC vent._

_Yeah, well._ Definitely _not that much._

Louis shuddered at the memory. That had been… not one of his better days. That was the first time his father had taken a slipper to him. He had learned since.

_Yeah, well. You’re only, like, an hour late. Or three._

_Right. And I’m sure Anthony’ll welcome me with open arms. Like she did my mom the fifty-odd times she’s called her._

_Getting into trouble’s not an option, then._

_Nope. Definitely not._

_Okay, Plan B, then._

_Which is_ what?

_Are you really_ that _stupid?_

Louis regarded the boundary wall, barely a foot lower than the gate, with trepidation.

_Guess not._

On a better day, Louis might have stopped to admire the Victorian Gothic architecture, the French windows, or the stained glass windows in the chapel, but today he only had eyes for the scary-looking security cameras and alarms situated at intervals on the walls.

“Well, can’t you have old-fashioned, stick-up-the-arse security systems as well?” he grumbled, walking over to the wall and scoping it out. It was just low enough for him to climb up.

As he was preparing to throw his bag over, he was seized by a sudden, crippling uncertainty.

_What the_ fuck _am `I doing`?_

_Shit, this is a bad idea. What am I_ thinking?

_I can’t do this. I can’t. cant cant cantcantcant._

_They’ll catch me. They’ll kill me._

Louis wanted curl up into a tiny ball, right there on the roadside, and just… Just.

_No._

_Louis. Louis, get up. You have to get up!_

Louis sucked in a shaky breath. Very, very rarely did the voice speak so clearly.

With an enormous effort, he pulled himself to his feet. He hadn’t even noticed when he’d sunk to his knees.

_Good. Now, calm. Calm down. Deep breaths. You’ve got this._

Louis breathed deeply. In, out. In, out.

_Good. Listen to me, Louis. You can do this. You can, okay? You’re going to heave yourself over that, join your friends, and do a fucking fine job of it. Got that?_

_Yes, I think I do, yeah._

_Good. Now, go._

“Okay, I can do this.” Louis muttered, throwing his bag over the edge, where it landed with a muffled thump.

There was nothing for it, now. Louis pulled his -Harry’s- shirt over his head so that it covered his face.

“Well, here goes nothing.”

And Louis grasped the wall with both hands, and pulled his torso up. With difficulty, (well, obviously. It wasn’t like there was a fucking shirt obscuring his vision or anything) he swung a leg over the wall, then the other.

“Ow.” He muttered as his knee scraped against the concrete and the skin of his thighs pulled taut. He could feel his cuts opening back up. He just hoped no blood soaked through his jeans and showed.

That, however, turned out to be the least of his worries.

For a moment, he thought he had successfully avoided detection, perched triumphantly atop the wall.

 

Then, all hell broke loose.

 

Out of nowhere it seemed, an alarm started blaring, Louis barely had time to dive (okay, fall ungracefully on his arse) to the ground before the cameras went off.

_Oh, you’ve tripped some sort of alarm. Fantastic. Now get out of here before someone comes looking._

Louis scrambled to his feet, brushed off his trousers, and, grabbing his bag, sprinted towards th school building.

Not a moment too soon either, because just as he skidded into the hallway to (third period) AP English, the principal’s reedy voice boomed over the intercom system.

 

_“It seems there has been an intrusion inside the school premises. Teachers will kindly assemble in the gymnasium. Students are requested to stay in their classes and maintain decorum.”_

“Yeah, yeah, shut up already.” Louis muttered, thoroughly irritated.

_She sounds like a fucking airhostess._

_And is just as annoying._

Mentally congratulating himself for conjuring up such an apt simile, he stopped in an alcove near his classroom and dialed Stan.

He picked on the fourth ring.

“Listen, Stan.” Louis said as soon as the call connected. They had long since passed the formalities stage. “Meet me in the boys’ washrooms on the ground floor, like, right now. Long story. I’ll explain when you get there. And bring a change of clothing.”

 

“Okay, you’re crazy.” Stan said fifteen minutes later, when Louis was safely outfitted in a fresh white shirt and Stan was filled in on the entire story. (Well, _almost_ the entire story. Louis just couldn’t bring himself to discuss Harry with anyone just yet.)

“You’re absolutely stark raving mad.”

“Gosh, thanks.” Louis said, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You flatter me. Keep the compliments coming, please…”

“No, but seriously. Who except Louis Tomlinson would do such a fucking crazy, stupid thing?” he said, then with an awed smile, “You’ve got guts, man.”

“Oh, who really cares if Anthony catches us?” Louis tossed out casually, ignoring the dread curling in his stomach. “Everyone does things the normal way.”

“Wow, mate.” Stan said. “Your parents must be really cool.”

“Yeah.” Louis said, smiling tightly.

_Oh, if only you knew._

“Well, come on, then.” Louis said, shaking himself from his grim train of thought and stepping outside the washroom. “We gotta go greet the masses.”

On the way back to class, the two came up with a convincing cover story for Louis.

 

(“No, Louis, no one is going to believe that you were off shagging Miss Louella.”

“But _whyyyy?_ Do you not think I’m attractive enough?”

“L- argh! Get off me, you freak! -For the last time, I. Am. Not. Gay, much as you might wish the opposite.”

Whereupon Louis had gone for a painful nipple twist)

(Louis’ loud protests notwithstanding, they had finally decided on the usual- going and getting stoned was _so_ much cooler than attending class)

And, they were outside. Louis took a deep breath.

“Wait@!” he screeched, grabbing Stan’s arm as he reached to open the door. “You dare _think_ of denying me my dramatic entrance, _worm?”_

Stan simply rolled his eyes and motioned for Louis to go ahead. Louis took another deep breath, and,

“I’m heeeeeeere!” he yelled, throwing open the door to AP English and stepping inside with an exaggerated flourish.

Immediately, a hubbub broke out.

 

“Louis, where the hell were you?”

 

“Shit, did you have anything to do with the break-in?”

 

“Oh my God, did you hear? There is apparently a crazy axe murderer going around school!”

 

“Guys!” Louis called out over the confusion, smirking at the last one. (He didn’t look _that_ bad) “Guys, listen to me!”

It took several tries, but Louis finally got the silence he wanted.

“Okay.” he said, counting the points off his fingers. “A: I decided getting high was more fun than class which, since I just got to class, gives you the answers to B and C. Thank you.” he took a bow and sat down next to Avril amidst a smattering of faux-applause.

“How’s it goin’, Lavigne?” he asked her. They had sat together for as long as he could remember, and, although they would hotly deny it when questioned, they’d save each other seats on the (frequent) occasions of one of then being late.

“One of these days, you’re gonna get caught, and then you’ll be fucked.” Avril said, by way of a greeting.

“Why?” laughed Louis “Scared its gonna ruin our marriage prospects?”

Avril wrinkled her nose.

“Ew. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last guy on earth.”

“I will have you know I have people lining up for a piece of this!” said Louis, gesturing aggressively to his body. “Also, _rude.”_

“You know me.”

They sat in companionable silence for a bit, Louis occassional laughing and joking with the people who came to talk to him.

The relative peace was interrupted by their teacher coming into the class, her trademark frown firmly in place, carrying a stack of what looked like pamphlets.

“Silence, class!” she said, rapping on her desk with the whiteboard duster. “Okay, so as you all know, there has been a break-in at school. This,” –holding up a picture for demonstration- “is a picture of the man. If you see anyone in similar clothing, kindly inform the authorities at once.”

Louis noted with relief that it was just a grainy CCTV grab of him, the shirt covering his face. No one could possibly tell it was him.

_Thank God._

Louis was saved from further discussion on the topic by the ringing of the. lunch bell.

Louis really, really hated the school cafeteria for three reasons.

One, it had food. Enough said.

Two, it smelled… bad. Kind of like his kitchen at night.

Three, the table system. For some unfathomable reason, _Him_ and his friends always sat at the same table as Louis and company. `And it didn’t help that Andy was one of the few openly gay boys a==t Casterly.

And he was taken.

And, since the fates were cruel, it was lasagna day. Which meant that Niall and Stan absolutely refused to go with him to the garden which was _technically_ meant for the botany students (that didn’t stop them from eating lunch there every day)

A huffy Louis, therefore, was forced to sit and ignore the rumbling of his stomach while his friends ate their weight in lasagna.

_God, how can they eat so much and not get any fatter?_

“You sure you don’t want any, Louis?” a pretty redhead called Ashley was asking him. Louis laughed and shook his head. His mouth watered.

‘Nah, Ash. I told you, after that breakfast, I’m literally going to puke if I eat any more.”

 

When fifteen minutes passed, and _he_ didn’t turn up, Louis was allowing himself to hope. And yet he felt the strangest sinking sensation in his heart.

 

“Hey, Andy!”

 

_Shit._

 

Louis heart soared and plummeted all at once. He looked up, and a blush crept up his cheeks when he found himself staring right at the love of his fucking life.

“Hey.” Andy replied, seating himself- ohnononono –right next to Louis. Louis shrank back into his chair, and yet, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the exquisite form of the boy next to him.

 

_God, he’s so fucking gorgeous, I don’t even know._

He stole little glances at him, at the way his muscles flexed underneath his tattoos, at the way his tank top looked almost sinfully good on him.

At the fact that he was skinny without even trying.

_But those_ muscles. _I bet they could pin me down._ Make _me take it, and-_

_Okay. Enough. Shut up._ Now _. He has a fucking boyfriend. And even if he didn’t, d’you really think he’d go for_ you? _Please._

But now, his friends were getting up, slapping him on the back, and he had barely picked at his lasagna.

And he was telling them to go on and he’d catch them later and oh _shitohshitohshit,_ now Louis was the only one next to him and _fuckfuckfuckholyfuckingshit_ Andy was turning to him.

“Hey, Lou.” he said in that deep voice of his. Louis felt the air punch out him.

“Hi, Andy. How’re you?” he said, sounding vaguely like an asthma patient without his inhaler.

Andy looked at him concernedly.

“Are you alright?” he said, turning the full force of his piercing blue-green gaze on Louis.

“Yeah.”

His brow creased.

“Have you been _crying?”_

“Uh…”

_I can’t lie to him._

“Louis, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Louis, tell me.”

“I _can’t”_

“You can. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

_Why do you have to make it so hard?_

“Um, I had a huge fight with my parents.”

“What about?” His eyes held nothing but concern.

“They don’t approve of me majoring in psychology.” Louis mumbled, the lies coming easier as they continued talking.

“Well, they have a point. Psychology won’t get you rich.”

“But it’s my passion!”

“Well, if it’s your passion, then you’ll be really good at it. Go for it, Lou.”

“Yeah, I will, thanks. Just. The constant discouragement just gets on my nerves sometimes.”

“I know its hard, sweetie. But you’ve just got to believe in yourself, yeah?”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“No problem.” He said, getting up and dumping his half-finished plate into the trash. “And, Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, we can talk about what’s actually bothering you.”

With that, he walked off, hands in his pockets, brooding as ever, leaving a blushing, flustered Louis in his wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk I really like this chapter, tell me what you think at louis-twinklinson.tumblr.com. (Also can I just take a moment to thank all them lovely people that leave kudos and comments? You people make this story worth finishing!)(And yes, that is subtle hint to you. Yes, you, hiding in the corner and not leaving kudos or comments.)  
> (Not really, though)  
> (Please don't get creeped out and never read this again)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, high time we met the Tomlinsons, don't you think?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, enjoy, I guess? I haven't updated in FOREVER, and I'm so so so so so sorry. I like this chapter, kind of.

PART SIX

The rest of the day passed like a breeze for Louis. Andy’s words had him floating on air. Literally. Even the routine hunger pains weren’t so bad.

 

_“Next time, we can talk about what’s actually bothering you.”_

The memory of the words never failed to make Louis blush.]

 

_God, he knows me so well._

Indeed, he felt so buoyant as he walked (always walked) home, that he considered giving the compass a miss that day.

 

And then all hell broke loose.

 

Walking in, he yelled his customary greeting to his mother as he trudged up the stairs to his room. He was kind of surprised when he got no response, but didn’t think much of it. He shut the door and made to grab his phone from its usual place in his nightstand drawer.

 

Only, it wasn’t there?

 

_Oh. Strange._

Assuming it was one of his sisters up to their tricks again, he went downstairs.

“”Mom, have you seen my phone?” he yelled, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes, I’ve seen your phone.” Jay said, looking uncharacteristically thin-lipped as she turned to look at him.

“Oh,” said Louis, rather put off by her coldness. “Where is it, then?”

Instead of answering him, though, she turned and called into her bedroom.

“Mark! Would you come in here, please?”

_Wait._ Mark _hadn’t gone to work?_

Before Louis could think any more about it, however, Mark appeared from the bedroom. His normally stern face had the even sterner expression which meant someone (usually him) was in _big_ trouble.

“He wants to know where his phone is,” said Jay, speaking through clenched teeth.

 

A shiver of dread ran through Louis.

 

 _This is_ really _bad._

_What have they found out?_

“We found it fit to confiscate it,” said Mark, his voice unusually shaky.

 

“But _why?”_ asked Louis.

 

_I expressly remember deleting all my porn history, so it can’t be that._

_It is the messages, God, it_ must _be the messages._

“Oh, you’re asking us, now?” Jay said, barking a vicious, humorless chuckle.

“

“What is this?” Mark demanded, swiping open his phone, flicking to Tumblr, opening it up.

 

“Who is this bloody bugger, posting such... lewd pictures, and inappropriate things?” he gritted out, pointing at various posts on his dash.

 

 _Fucking hell. Of_ course _they wouldn’t get the humor._

“What the hell are these chats going on between you and this person... _Anonymous?”_ he said, as if it pained him to say the words.

 

_Wait, what?_

“What are you talking about?” Louis asked, completely dumbfounded.

 

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t know what we’re talking about.” Jay spat.

 

“This.” He said, gesturing to Louis’ dash again. “This _Anonymous_ is asking you questions and you’re answering inappropriately, to say the least.”

 

_Goddamn. He fucking thinks I’m all the fucking people on my dash._

“God, that is _not_ me!” Louis almost screams. _How thick are you two?_

“”Oh, yeah? Who is it, then? Who, besides you, would post stuff on here?”

 

_Oh, I don’t know, maybe the 50 million fellow user of the site?_

“It’s just like,” Louis begins to explain, exhaling sharply through his nose and praying to the Gods above for patience. “You can, like, follow people, and the stuff they post comes up on here. So, that’s is not me. Okay? Are you satisfied?”

 

“Not quite,” Mark said. “What’s this?”  and he begins to read, in a horrible monotone, one of Louis’ most private messages, straight from his own inbox, sent to one of his best friends on the site.

“Oh god nicole its too deep ive cut too deep and it wont stop bleeding it wont what should i do help”

Louis cringes, the words seeming to pierce his skin like shards of broken glass. He squeezed his eyes shut, so tight it was almost painful. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

“Stop. It was... nothing. A flight of fancy, I guess.”

“Oh and don’t think we haven’t read your messages.” Jay sniped in.

 

_Oh, so it’s your turn to start now, is it? Go ahead._

“We went through them only to find out what was going on in your head.” Jay starts.

 

 _Well, you could always, I don’t know, try_ asking _me for a change? And while you’re at it, not be such judgemental arseholes that I would feel the need to withhold anything?_

“And what is this you’re talking about with your friends? You appear to be entertaining a fancy of being _in love_ with a- a boy.” Jay ends with a shudder of disgust, forming quotation marks around the ‘in love’. “Darling, you’re way too young to be filling your head up with such nonsense. This bullshit you get up to on the internet is what gives you such ideas. It’s all you think about, all the time.”

“No, _something_ has to be done,” said Mark, shaking his head. “Rest assured that if you get up to any such antics in the future, I will turn you out. I will miss you, but if you’re not willing to comply with the rules of the house, then pack your stuff, and get out.

 

“We’ll be taking this,” said Jay, pocketing his phone. “Go eat your lunch. I don’t know what you eat at school.”

“Not hungry,” Louis mumbled.

 

_Don’t want to fucking add fat and disgusting to my already charming list of self-describing adjectives._

“I don’t care,” Jay said. “You’ll eat, here in front of us.”

“I don’t want to!” Louis yelled, finally losing his temper, the carefully practiced, controlled façade slipping.

 

 _Just lay off me, would you, you fucking bitch?_ Now _you fucking show some bloody_ concern _for me?_

“”Do _not_ speak to your mother like that!” Mark said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You’ll do as she says.”

 

Jay set a plate heaped with more food than he could eat in a day before him.

“I can’t eat all this!” Louis said, his anger, frustration, irritation welling up inside, causing him to dig his nails into his palms, so hard he drew blood. It could find no other outlet to escape. A wild urge to just flip the table over, bring the plates down with a resounding _thwack_ against their heads, consumed him.

“You’ll eat,” said Mark, his voice steely with determination.

Louis just stared straight ahead with equal determination.

_I won’t eat, I won’t won’t won’t won’twon’twon’t._

Suddenly, Mark’s fist came slamming down on the tabletop.

“Eat, bloody hell!” he shouted, causing Louis to jump a little. He did not drop his gaze, though, staring fixedly at a spot straight ahead of him.

Getting no reaction from him, Mark marched over to his side of the table.

“Eat!” he roared, getting right up in Louis’ face. Louis definitely flinched this time.

“For God’s sake, eat, Louis.” Jay said, her voice apprehensive.

But now Mark was grabbing him by the shoulders, shaking him roughly.

“Put the bloody fork in your mouth, goddamn you!” he yelled, right next to his ear. Trembling, Louis picked up his fork and speared a bit of spaghetti.

“Look at the plate!” Mark barked, not relaxing his position.

Louis kept staring straight ahead.

“I said, LOOK AT THE PLATE!” Mark stormed, grabbing the back of Louis’ head and forcing his head down. Louis squeezed his eyes shut, tears trickling silently down his cheeks.

“Now eat!” Mark yelled.

His chest heaving with trembling, suppressed sobs, Louis slowly brought the fork to his mouth.

 

_Oh, a-fucking-amazing. This should have been the first fucking red flag. But no fucking way. Not a fucking word about self-harm, no fucking questions asked, no fucking therapy. These people could write a fucking book titled, How to Raise a Fucked-Up Child in Five Steps: A Guide by the Tomlinsons._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> louis-twinklinson's the tumblr yo and I probably don't deserve them for being shitty with updates, but kudos and comments are very nice yes


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff, to kind of balance out the angst overload of late :) Let's meet the Boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... have fun, I guess, all you schmoop-lovers!

PART SEVEN

It was Friday.

It was Friday and Louis’ phone was beeping with around fifteen hundred texts screaming for him to get out of the house and join them at some party or the other.

It was Friday and Louis’ parents were milling about the house, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

_Well, for them, it probably fucking hasn’t, huh?_

Louis had to practically grovel on his hands and knees, apologizing profusely and endlessly, before they would even listen. He had to swear upon all that he held dear in the world that no, he would _never_ do such a thing again, and that _yes,_ he would eat, and _no,_ he wouldn’t talk back, before his phone was handed back to him with a condescending little pat on the head.

It was Friday and Louis was curled up in a ball on his bed, willing the stomach cramps away, feeling his raw throat sting from where he had run to the bathroom as soon as the ordeal was over, and just purged, his fingers clawing at the back of his throat in the haste to get the food _out._

He had purged up blood.

He groped blindly for his phone, face still buried in the tear-damp pillow, grabbing it and turning it off before pulling the pillow over his head, trying to ignore the way his vision went in and out of focus.

_I have to try and get some rest. Just try to sleep._

Sleep seemed to elude Louis as he fidgeted restlessly on his bed. His head spun, his throat throbbed with rawness. For what felt like the millionth time, he pinched at the fat on his stomach, squeezing it between his fingers, wishing he could just tear it off.

 _There’s still too much of it. Too much of_ you, _fucking fat failure._

Before he knew what was happening, Louis’ hands started raking up and down his arms, picking at the barely-healed cuts on his forearm, nails reaching underneath to claw at bare skin. He pressed them in cruelly, _needing_ the pain, _craving_ it somehow.

_Fucking do it. Fucking draw blood. You fucking need to be punished, worthless, fat, fucking useless-_

Louis sat up abruptly on his bed when he heard the doorknob turn. He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, frantically wiping away the wetness there.

_Don’t fucking give them the satisfaction._

His door swung open, and Jay popped her head in.

“Louis?” she said. Her eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying.

_Where fucking else would I be?_

Jay walked in, shutting the door behind her. She sat on Louis’ bed, extending her arms to him.

“Come here, baby,” she said. Louis stubbornly remained where he was.

“Such temper!” she laughed, moving over to envelope him in a hug. Louis struggled halfheartedly against her hold.

“Just go away,” he gritted out.

“You know we’re just worried about you, darling. We just want to make sure you’re eating properly.”

_Well, I can think of several better ways to do it than fucking shoving food I don’t want, need or deserve down my fucking throat. Like understanding me, for starters._

“And you know how Mark is. Let’s be reasonable here, darling. You have to admit you were annoying the crap out of us.”

_How hard is it to fucking understand that I Can. Not. Fucking. Eat._

“You’re our son, darling. We love you very much, and we want to do our very best by you as parents.”

And all at once, Louis’ throat was choking up. He hated himself for it, but he was suddenly very, very close to tears.

 _Do_ not _cry. DO NOT FUCKING CRY._

“You hurt us so much by acting as you do, love. You know that?”

And Jay is hugging him tighter than ever, and Louis finds himself bawling in his mother’s arms like a baby. The annoying voice in the back of his mind has shut up for once, and it feels so good to let it all out.

“Stay out of all this gay nonsense, okay, Louis?” Jay whispers into his hair.

And that last sentence stuck a bitter barb into their whole exchange. Louis let go pretty quickly after that.

When Harry gets home, he’s jittery. The seven-odd cups of coffee he’s drunk through the day are still sending bursts of manic energy through his veins.

He practically waltzes into his apartment, toeing his shoes off in the hallway before going into the bedroom and chucking his coat, almost on top of a disgruntled-looking figure sat on the bed with a huge bowl of popcorn.

“Well, I see that you’ve finally put in an appearance, motherfucker,” he says sarcastically, eyes not even moving from the telly playing some God-awful horror movie as he picked off popcorn from the bowl, one by one.

“And I see you’ve made yourself comfortable, with _my_ popcorn, in front of _my_ telly.” Harry shot back, chuckling as he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl, settling himself comfortably next to him. He received an annoyed grunt and a shove in response, along with a grumble to “settle his skinny fucking ass someplace else before he gets punched in the face.”

“Such a sweet-mouthed boyfriend I have.” Harry says, setting further under the covers. “Sometimes I regret giving you an extra key.”

“You love me,” he says absently, eyes fixed on the screen. “Now shut up.”

“Sweeney Todd, again, really?” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “Remind me again the number of times we’ve watched this?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know, since _you’re_ the one screaming like a girl every time it comes on.”

“Heeeeeeeyyyyy, I do not!”

“Whatever, babe.”

“I met a pretty boy todaaaaay,” Harry sang, throwing his arms around the unwilling body next to him.

Harry got better, though, when he turned to face him.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, ice-blue eyes sparkling with challenge. “What was his name?”

“Louis.” Harry says, green staring down blue. “He was _really_ fit.”

“Aaaandd I’m seeing him again.” Harry says, a smug smirk finding its way onto his face as blue eyes narrowed and a delicate eyebrow went up. “I’m taking him to that dinner you so romantically cancelled on me for.”

“You dick, you know I have a meeting with the record company then.”

“I know, sweetcheeks. Point remains, though, that I’m taking pretty boy to dinner instead of you. I’ve replaced you.” Harry smirks.

The TV is abruptly turned off as Harry is pulled in for a kiss by his shirt collar.

“Let’s see if you can remember shit about _pretty boy_ after we’re done,” is murmured against his lips before Harry is pushed down onto the bed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Want to throw furniture at me? That's what comments are for, loveys! Also, as always, MASSIVE thanks to everyone who left kudos and commented, you guys inspire me to keep going with this, awful as it sometimes seems. Drop me an ask or something on my Tumblr. It's louis-twinklinson!!!!


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